


Honey

by AlwaysACuteMess



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Muses, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysACuteMess/pseuds/AlwaysACuteMess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is propositioned for some inspirational work in a time when he can't afford to turn it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Rent’s due in two weeks.” The words were distant and muffled and entirely unwelcome. “Con Ed’s gonna cut the electric on the twenty-seventh, too.” It was too early for this. Too early to care about this. He didn’t want to care about it, either. “Dan get the fuck up.” But he wasn’t going to stop. Not until the money came. Which was fair. Annoying. But fair.

He scratched a hand back through his hair, turning his face away from the pillow he’d currently been buried in. Blearily attempting to focus in on his roommate’s face. No such luck, but he thought he at least must have been looking in the right direction. “I get paid tomorrow.” About as much as he could promise.

Ryan just stood there looking as pissed as ever. Dan absently wondered if he’d _ever_ seen that guy smile... “Yeah? Is that gonna be enough to pay anything?” The only reason he was asking was because he knew it wasn’t. And although Dan couldn’t really see more than the fuzzy outline of his body, he saw that equally fuzzy arm reach out to tip the bong on the bedside table just slightly. “Or are you just gonna use it for more weed?”

He would have absolutely liked to. In fact... maybe he _had_ been planning on it. “No man I’ll-...” Danny sighed, pushing his hands up underneath him so he could try and sit up. He heaved a sigh and looked up again. “You’ll get whatever I made this week. Every cent. Even tips. Promise.” Then he did what he always did. Offered a smile. Because he was too poor to give anything else.

His roommate just stared at him, unbelieving of any of it, for a long couple of moments before rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Whatever.” It was hard to stay mad at a smile like that. It was probably why he hadn’t kicked Danny out yet. Though he would have had every right. Then, finally, he walked away.

Leaving Dan in the peacefulness of the late afternoon sun as it shone through the high windows and onto his mattress. He flopped back down, rubbing his face against the scratchy quilted top. Still no sheets. It had only been what... two years? He didn’t have a box spring so he figured what good were sheets? Who was he trying to impress? He never brought girls back home anymore. Always their place. Never his. As long as he could help it he’d never bring a girl back to this shithole. Because if he did his chances of getting laid after that would be drastically reduced.

Not that he’d been out for that for a while. Still nursing his heart. Didn’t matter. ...didn’t matter...

“You’re late for work.”

Part of him already knew this. Most of him also knew that no matter how late he was, he’d be okay. Someone there would cover for him. Yet still, “Fuck,” tumbled quietly out of his mouth as he raised his arm up to cover his eyes. Today was already starting off so well.

Despite his protection of decent people he rushed through everything else. No need to put his coworkers out more than they needed to be. Took half a shower. Put on a dirty uniform. He hadn’t done laundry in... what now.. three months? No quarters. Never any quarters. Thought about eating a piece of bread but decided against it. Then he left. Hurried out of the broken down crappy warehouse apartment and down several blocks as fast as his long legs would take him.

Got in. Listened to the berating. Promised it wouldn’t happen again and then giggled helplessly when they called him out on it. Clocked in. Then went to his spot at the counter and tried not to fall asleep listening to orders. Tried to make them as they were being asked. God forbid he fuck up even more today. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. The daily luck would run dry eventually. Couldn’t get away with everything forever. Not even with a smile as pretty as his.

During the lull he leaned against the counter, chin in his hands. He should have been cleaning coffee pots or machines but his heart just wasn’t in it. As if being a barista was really where he wanted to be in life. And today just wasn’t the day. Like all days weren’t the day. He stared out the window. Watched cute girls walk by. Businessmen stop out front, study their watches, and then go.

And then _Honey_ came in.   
He didn’t know her real name, and for months since he’d seen her- or at least realized she was a regular in a sea of exchangeable faces- he’d just started calling her _Honey_.

“Oh, Honey was at work again today. Stayed for an hour, let her coffee go cold.”  
“Honey laughed at something stupid I said today.”   
“I’m so totally sure Honey was making eyes at me today.”

He told these stories to his friends when he got high. _Honey_ wasn’t a petname for her, more the color of her eyes when she smiled at him. And the sound of her voice when she spoke. The way she moved. The sweetness of her very being. But something you’d get trapped in if you stayed too long. He thought he was clever. And maybe one day he’d write a song about her, if he could get the words right.

Today wouldn’t be that day, either.   
But today Honey ordered the same thing she always did, sat at the same table she always did, and did the same thing she always did. She was like a predictable calm in the storm that was his falling-apart-life. She pulled a notebook out of her bag. And she worked. Whatever she was doing, he could never tell. Sketching, sometimes he thought. But then other times she’d write. Then she’d stop for a long while, and look at him. Sometimes he’d catch her. Sometimes he wouldn’t.

But when he did, they’d share a smile. His on the more dopey end of the spectrum. Couldn’t help himself. Then she’d lower her pencil back to her page and continue on. This had been going on for some time now. The ritual was calming. He could be late for work. He could have no money for bills. His dealer could be dicking him on the price of weed again but... as long as Honey came in... life didn’t seem so bad.

Something was terribly different today, though. Frustration was rolling off her like stormy waves. She tapped her pencil often against her notebook but nothing seemed to come out. She’d look at him, he’d look back, offer what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, and then she’d drop her gaze. Try to write- or draw- or whatever it was that she did, and then she’d stop. Today something was wrong with Honey. And he didn’t like it.

For the next couple of hours she didn’t touch her drink at all. And when she’d finally resigned herself to just staring blankly out the window, he somehow worked up the courage. He wasn’t really sure he could manage this but... it didn’t have to be a lot. Just a small gesture would hopefully perk her up. So he made her a cup of her coffee just the way she liked it and left his post at the counter to bring it over to her. “On the house.” Softly from him as he put it down.

She looked at the cup first, then at him. He smiled at her in the same way he usually did and finally she smiled back. “Thanks, Danny.” It surprised him that she knew his name- ...then again, he _did_ wear a name badge to work every day. Still, to think she even looked at that. Or cared. It was a weird feeling. “Are you on break?”

“Uh- no-“ Losing focus already. Unprepared. He hadn’t rehearsed this far. He had only meant to just bring her coffee and then go. “But I mean- I could be- if you uhm- if you wanted or-“ His shoulders rolled up in a shrug before his tone even got to lilting upwards in question.

For the first time he heard her laugh. And that, too, was like honey. “Can you spare a moment to sit with me?”

“Me?” Head craning backwards as if the shock slapped him, brows shooting upwards. The smile he was certain he was wearing then must have been incredibly dumb. When she nodded he couldn’t help himself, “Me? You’re sure? You’re not uh- busy? Or something?”

Reaching out she patted the chair next to her. “Sit with me. Please?” So he did. Plopped down and then put his hands up on the table, cupping together nervously. “I actually wanted to ask you something. For a while now but. I wasn’t really sure how.”

Oh, no way. Honey was hitting on him? Was that possible? Maybe wanted to ask him out? Today was _some_ kind of day after all. Man. What a day. “Yeah?” Smiling still, unable to keep from it around her. “What’s that?”

Her head ducked- bashful, it seemed. Maybe she was going to ask him on a date. That would have been awesome. “Uh... so.. this is going to be really weird. Let me try and explain it- um...” He sat quietly, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Really wanted to know what she had on her mind. “So I’m sure you’ve seen me scratching in this notebook all the time.” Slowly she turned it around to him to show him- well, a lot of nothing. Scribbled of the literal sort. Just twirls of her pencil on the page. Angry scratchings.

“Yeah. I’ve kinda always wondered what you do.” And what he was looking at currently didn’t really help explain any of it. But when he reached over and she let her hands up, questioning her in his gaze- and she nodded- he flipped a few pages back. Elegant drawings of tall, lean men that... _maybe_ almost looked sort of like him littered page after page. Some more detailed. Some clearly more focused on what they were wearing.

Then further back towards the front of the notebook there were passages. Graceful wording about... some guy in the city, who knew. His eyes glazed a little as he couldn’t bring himself to squint in front of her. Writer- or- well, artist was a more encompassing term, he supposed. She did both. “Anyway...” He hadn’t realized that she’d been sitting there nervously while he looked over her work. “For a while now I’ve sort of.. found inspiration. Through uuuhh...” What she was trying to say was clear. But strange. So very strange.

Him? What about him made her want to do any of that? She was right. This was weird. It made him feel very weird. He pushed her notebook back to her, running a hand back nervously through his hair. “Well- I mean- you’re very talented.” Giggling about as nervously as she looked.

“Thanks.” Warmly spoken as she pulled her book back and closed it. “Talented when faced with the right inspiration.” Now **that** was really too much for him to take. His head dropped back, feeling a dust of pink on his cheeks and he just went quiet. Wanted to say no but the words wouldn’t come out. Because he couldn’t take away what she’d done from her, even if she was saying it was thanks to him. “Uh. So. Anyway...” He hoped she was trying to move the topic along. To what, who knew, but he would have so preferred- “I think I’m probably about to really make you think I’m a serial killer that’s been vetting you for a while but... like.. if it’s not- I mean it really _is_ too much to ask. I know. But I was wondering if you ever thought of- uh... well- I mean. Hm.” She seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say. He just sat there patiently, still, waiting for her to get it all out.

Because after that he could say no. She was beautiful and nice. To be sure. But. Still. This was too much.

“Well it’s sort of like modeling? Which I think you should probably get into, by the way. You have the perfect frame for it. And the face.” He had to steel a roll of his eyes, smile on his lips drying up just a little as he felt the heat on his face intensifying. “But it’s like private modeling. Uh... I guess what I’m really trying to ask you is uh... would you maybe ever consider doing muse work for me?”

His happy demeanor died completely under a look of absolute confusion. “Uh. What? What’s that you like- you want me to what. Come back to your apartment and stand around naked or something?” Giggling at the idea- and the awkwardness. The sound very much the same note.

“No no! Not- well it doesn’t _have_ to be naked.” But the way she was saying that sounded very much like that opportunity was on the table, should he so ever desire. “But I just. I don’t know. God I know this is weird but I look at you and it’s just like the stuff comes to me. And I feel like I’ve been using you for that and I think that’s unfair. Because you definitely deserve to be paid.”

His head started shaking before he even realized it. “This is pretty weird uh- you were right about that.” Giggles littering his words still, not sure what other sounds to make over it. “I don’t really know what to say. I mean- no? No like I don’t want money or whatever just because you came in here and stared at me a bunch and whatever happened. I don’t- that’s not something I’d really liked to be paid for, if I’m honest.” He watched her nod, although it was hard to look at her directly after all this. His face was burning. “Uuuhh... and like.. I dunno. I’m not sure what else to say. I don’t really know you.”

She was frowning now but nodding hard. “Yeah. Yeah no I really get that. I understand. I’m sorry. I put a lot on you by doing this. I’m really sorry.”

He tried a smile for her again. Just to make this better. “It’s okay. Stranger shit has happened, if you’d believe it.” She smiled back but it was... less. “Uh. But thanks? I guess. For the offer. You’ll find someone better. Probably. And uh- don’t stop coming just because of that, if you want. I mean. You can keep staring at me, if you want or.. whatever.” He wanted to add in _that’s_ a weird thing to say, but it was all weird to say. This was weird. So. So weird.

“Yeah. Thanks. Again I’m sorry.” She tried to pedal backwards further with this apology as she watched him stand up and back off. This had gone horribly.

“It’s alright.” Offered one more time before he turned away. Determined to leave her alone. To just let this be the next story he told when he got high.

Shit. But he wasn’t going to have money for another week to get weed. He’d have to give it to Ryan. Fuck. This week was going to be really hard without that. He wasn’t even sure how he’d get through.

That thought put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back around. She looked up as he came back over, questioning tilt of her head. “Uuh...” Fell out of his mouth as he smiled down at her. About as nervous as she’d been a few moments ago. “So- like.. just out of curiosity- uh. How much would that pay? You know. Just like. As a funny bookend to this.” He didn’t really have a good reason other than, _this is all stupid, but how much would I be making just sitting around possibly not naked? You know. Hypothetically speaking._

“I’ve paid my past professional muses about a grand a week.”

She could have very seriously been just a pretty murderer. Like she’d said. Or an absolute nutjob. Who knew what was waiting for him at her apartment. Probably not a grand a week. Probably not. No one was ever that lucky. He wasn’t that good looking- in fact, nowhere near. Not that he had a gauge for how much looks paid out.

“I quit.” The first thing out of his mouth, directed at his boss after walking away from her with no explanation.

Fuck it.   
Fuck it all.   
A grand a week?

She looked up when he returned and he nodded. “I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining that Friday morning in Brooklyn. Dan waited longer than he should have for it to stop. When he realized the gray clouds and thick droplets weren’t going anywhere any time soon, he grabbed an umbrella. Usually he knew better- he _did_ know better. But still he grabbed it. Usually he’d go out and just deal with getting rained on. Or put a jacket over his head and run. But today he felt like that wasn’t really an option. He couldn’t show up to her apartment for the first time looking like a drenched monster. ...or could he? Maybe that would be some weird inspiration?

The longer he thought about it the more put out he felt. The more he felt like he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be going. He wasn’t heading to her place first, anyway, but... that just gave him all the more time to try and talk himself out of it.

She could have been a murderer. Luring him in with a beautiful smile and some bull about more money than he could ever dream of per week. And he was taking the bait like the simp that he was. Couldn’t turn down a cute girl with cash. Was that how low he’d sunk? Had his last breakup really done _that_ much of a number on him?

He guessed it must have.  
Because he was picking up his paycheck from the coffee place, awkwardly avoiding eyes with everyone there. They may have been pretend work friends while he was employed but now that he left a hole to fill, no one seemed to want to talk to him. That was fine. He’d probably never come back anyway. Especially not if he was about to be killed by going to some random chick’s apartment.

Once he got his envelope he went back to the warehouse. Ryan was still asleep. Dan stood at the foot of the bed for probably too long a time. Not watching him, just.. drifting off. Thinking about a million things. And while he’d promised Ryan every cent of that paycheck, he couldn’t help but pocket ten dollars. He could do a lot with ten dollars. And what he’d made wasn’t enough to pay for his portion regardless. Ten bucks wasn’t going to put a dent in anything in either direction. So he took the bill, folded it, and put it in his back pocket. Then he tossed the envelope onto Ryan’s dresser and left.

Thought about leaving him a note. Something like, _I’ll be out for the rest of the weekend._ But... Ryan wouldn’t care where he went. So why give him any regard at all?

...he still did it. Scribbled on a post-it and stuck it to the fridge. Couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t help the thought that if Ryan somehow grew a heart and worried that he’d be responsible. It’d never happen in a million years but... he wrote it down anyway. Then he popped his umbrella again and headed out.

Honey’s apartment was in the nicer part of town- shock shock, surprise surprise. Sarcastic tone drifting through his own head, even as he smiled at the idea. She deserved somewhere nice. And really, was he going to get murdered in the nice part of Brooklyn? ...it could still happen, sure. But it was less likely. More nosy snooty neighbors, right? The kind that liked to cause high-society-drama just to give themselves something to do? Surely Honey couldn’t axe him up and drag his body to the curb without some old debutante with a poodle watching through a pair of binoculars. So. He was sure he wasn’t going to die today.

Mostly. Anyway.

As he walked he sung some song that had yet to be written with some melody that didn’t exist, only in his head, to an imagined beat of the rain hitting his umbrella. It carried him a good twenty minutes on foot until the wind between the buildings bent the prongs and protection overhead the other way and he found himself doused. Stopping to stoop in the sidewalk to try and shake it back the other way. When he finally got it he held on tighter, angled the umbrella more topside against the wind to keep it from snapping again but then the wind just snatched it right out of his hands. Leaving him standing on the sidewalk for a moment to watch it tumble aimlessly down the street. Far out of reach.

Suddenly he was soaked.  
Great.

Cancel, he told himself. Cancel, go try to negotiate with the dealer on the corner of Dekalb Ave for something worth rolling a paper and then go home and smoke.  
Ryan would probably be an asshole all night about money.  
And it was likely he wouldn’t get much to smoke with....

He continued walking down the street until he found himself looking up at her apartment complex. Large and newly built. While he was impressed that he’d remembered her address without looking once, when he stepped up to the names next to the buzzers he finally had to look at the smudged ink on his palm. Hastily written this morning and almost completely worn away by now.

2F? He thought?  
He buzzed that one. And a most certainly male voice answered. So he just ignored it. Squinted at his own poor handwriting, and tried... _what is this, god damn it..._ 6E? Somehow? Maybe? Unfortunately no one answered that ring at all, and he didn’t think she had been playing a huge joke on him so much as to not be there when he arrived for the first time. He hoped, anyway. Frustration got the better of him for a moment, and he contemplated just buzzing every single apartment there was. Pissing off all the potential neighbors- making life hell for her... didn’t seem worth it, in the end. Especially not if he’d be traveling here all the time. He didn’t want to be remembered as that annoying piece of shit kid that bothered everyone.

The thought of leaving filled his head. That maybe this was all a sign. Getting drenched. Unable to read her apartment number; he didn’t believe in fate at all, but this was what fate looked like, if it were real, right? Signs pointing him in the opposite direction? But then there was a different thread roped around him as he saw her face appear at the front door. Apprehension and relief warred in his chest.

“Oh!” Clearly she was just as surprised to see him and giggles slipped out of him immediately. “I was coming to see if you’d gotten lost-“ Shit. That meant he was late. Late enough for her to be antsy.

“Yeah- sorry- I don’t _think_ I’ve been standing out here forever but I couldn’t...” Holding up his hand to reveal the nonsense smudges that used to be an address with a correct floor number on it.

She nodded understandingly. “You’re soaked, too. Come on, I’ll make some tea.” Beckoning him in with a little wave past the front and into the hall- lobby- area- thing. He wasn’t really sure what to call it. There was no doorman, and thank god for that because he was sure he would have gotten his ass kicked six ways to Sunday in that case, but there was no front desk person either. Or a front desk. There _was_ , however, an elevator. One that she stepped into and he clumsily followed.

“My umbrella...” He mumbled uselessly, a little overstimulated with everything. “It uh.. the wind caught it- I didn’t mean- I mean I didn’t.. want to get your place all wet or anything...” He felt out of his depths here. Of course he hadn’t just gone out in the rain with the intention of tracking water and mud everywhere, but the politeness and awkwardness in him prompted him to try and explain that.

He watched as she pressed the top floor button and stuck a key into the slot aside it, giving a little twist. “It’s alright I understand. I’m sorry it rained so hard on you. You must be freezing.” Looking back at him with a soft smile he was starting to think he could _really_ get used to.

But before he could really get enticed by that, “You have like a.. like a private key? Entrance? Thing?” Finished asking just as the doors opened to reveal an expansive loft. Modern in its decorating. Off-white walls and gorgeous dark wood flooring and paneled ceiling.

“Yeah. I’ll make you a copy. Don’t worry.” That hadn’t been why he was asking. He’d been asking because... this was unreal. She padded out of the elevator and further into the loft while he was stuck just at its entrance. The doors shut behind him, almost catching his jacket in their wake. “You can take your sneakers off there- and whatever else you want- I’m-! Not trying to sound suggestive! I just don’t want you to get sick.” Her voice echoed behind her as she moved further and further away, still within his line of sight, if he had been looking at her.

Instead he was looking beyond her. Around her. This is what the finer life looked like. It wasn’t like he’d grown up terribly poor or anything. He _was_ terribly poor _now_ , though. Not that that bothered him. Despite rent always seeming to be due and the utilities always under threat, weed sometimes costing too much for him in conjunction with the thought of _well would I like to eat today or would I like to get high today?-_ he’d been happy. He’d been happy because he was trying to chase his own dreams. He’d been _very_ unhappy in college. Diagnosably so. Days where he just laid around- got high if he had the energy, just to take the threatening edge of darkness off a little- days where he cried. Wondered what he was going to do. Where he was going. How he was going to keep living.

But he’d crawled out of that hole. Gotten better.  
It wasn’t _all_ good now. He’d had two life shattering breakups in the meantime; professionally and romantically. The latest one he was still trying to find his way through. His life, though, was happy. He was happy. Money didn’t make him happy. Music made him happy. He made himself happy.

Yet as he stood in, what had to be counted as, a foyer in an expansive, expensive Brooklyn loft, high up, city laying quietly in the distance through the floor-to-ceiling windows... he thought.. how much happier he _could_ be. How much easier the dream of rock star would be to obtain if he didn’t have to worry about money. Rent. Bills. A day job his heart wasn’t in. Or how he was going to end up owing his dealer from one week to the next. If he could just settle down and listen to his heart, hear the music clearly without the threat of millions of other people having parties or arguing or-

“Danny?” He only realized he’d completely spaced out, going in circles in his head, when she was standing before him again, worried look in her eyes. “I know it’s a lot- my agent thought it would be better for my image or something and-“

“No no no-“ He barely heard her. Just understood that she was nervous because he was acting strange. “It’s alright. It’s totally cool- I mean. Come on. Look at your place. It’s fucking awesome.” It really was. Paintings hanging in available wall space where he supposed a decorator told her they were meant to hang. Comfortable looking furniture strewn about without looking messy, all dark in color, contrasting the brightness of the walls. Modern looking technology. Soft billowing curtains on each and every high-rise window. But above all...

Above all else, these modern touches and wonderful _things_ , there was peace. And quiet. And he realized that was what he’d been missing for quite some time. He surrounded himself with people. Always. Maybe scared to be alone with his own thoughts after drowning when he was younger. But here, with her in her crazy ridiculous apartment, large and _empty_ and... peaceful. He heard music. Music that he’d put off at home. At work. Because he didn’t have enough of himself to give credence to it when he was too busy giving himself to everyone else. So suddenly he desperately yearned for this safe haven.

The thought returned, that she’d offered this to him- and not just this, but _money_ , too. And for what? For...

He slid out of his jacket and sneakers, finally following her the second time around, thanking her quietly when she gave him a towel to dry off his hair, not caring that ruffling the wetness out of it probably made him look crazier than she’d ever seen him before. Especially not when she offered a smile at the very image. She made no noise when he sat on one of her couches in his wet jeans. Either she didn’t care or she didn’t want to make him feel bad. He must have missed the whistle of a kettle, because soon she was offering him a hot mug of tea which he _greatly_ appreciated. Tucking his long legs up underneath him, holding the cup between both his hands, long fingers wrapped around it. Then he spaced out again, for a moment, just watching the rain fall on the city through her windows.

“Can I- I mean.. do you mind if I... sketch you?” This was why she’d offered him everything he was now enjoying without a second thought.

Yet he still felt nervous. A twitch of unknown anxiety that he couldn’t place. Hesitation and... embarrassment? Maybe. “Uh- I mean- yeah- that’s why I’m here, right?” She was using him just as much as he was about to use her. A mutual using. That made it okay, right?

Perhaps she didn’t think so, because now she was frowning and he felt like an asshole. “You know what? Maybe later.. let’s- that was rude of me. I’m sorry. How about we get to know each other, first?”

“Um.. sure. Yeah. I’d really like that.” Warmth seeping back into his voice without him having to consciously prompt it. “But- like- if you want, I mean I know when you sketch the person’s supposed to like, sit super still, right? But if you want, while we talk, you can draw or whatever?” Trying to find his place in the best of both worlds. Giving her what she was asking of him. Trying very hard to do so.

When she smiled again he felt like he’d done the right thing. “Yeah. Okay. You don’t have to focus on sitting stock still, though. That’s okay.”

A breath whooshed out of his lungs. “ _Phew_. Good. Because I- like to- move around a lot-“ Rocking his head from side to side and swerving dramatically from his seated spot on the couch just to get a laugh out of her.

It worked.  
And he’d never felt so good in all his life. Not in recent years, anyway. Not even with his manifested, purposeful sense of happy. This was better than that. It almost seemed like her sketchbook appeared from thin air, although he was mostly certain that she’d pulled it from somewhere while he was drifting off again. “You uh-“ He started, nodding his head around to indicate the entirety of the loft, “You have a lot of roommates or something?”

Her eyes were half on him and half on her page while her pencil delicately skritch-scratched at the page. He found he really liked the noise. “No, it’s just me. Really I think this is too much space for one person. It gets very lonely. But my agent said it’s good for appearances and hosting parties, so...” Right, right. He remembered her saying something about an agent earlier after only hearing the word come out of her mouth now.

“I sort of live on the opposite spectrum.” He picked up the slack with relative ease, finding comfort in talking with her. When she gave him a little questioning noise and glance he grinned. “I- oh shit- I can’t remember.. I think we have eleven people living in my apartment right now? I forget. It’s hard to keep track.”

“That’s crazy!” She seemed utterly aghast with the very thought. “I don’t think I could work in a place like that.” Too much going on, and he agreed with a nod in lieu of words he was just thinking moments ago. “How do you find any peace and quiet to get anything done?”

His head tipped a little to the side, “Get anything done?” They’d never had a conversation before yesterday. There was no way she could know what he was trying to do with his life-

“Oh- well... I just thought.. working in a coffee shop is probably not your life’s work, right? I mean, I hope not because if it is I’ll be the biggest jerk in the world..” Nervously, almost, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pencil stopping for the moment. “Just... when I watch you at work- which- wow sounds creepy now that I say it out loud-“ She’d gotten close to the thought earlier, too, so it wasn’t as shocking the second time around for him to hear it, “I just... you seem so.. far away. It’s kind of what makes you so beautiful.” Immediately he felt his face blaze in red heat at such a casual compliment. But before he could rebuke it, “You’re like.. in your own world and... I thought you must be thinking of something else. Writing? Or art? Or.. academics of some kind?”

“Music.” He offered without another second, warm and open. “I.. I want to do music. That’s all I’ve _ever_ wanted to do. And when it’s quiet sometimes I can put together lyrics, and if I’m lucky enough I’ll remember them when I get home and write ‘em down and.. when it’s quiet I can hear melodies- and- yeah. Just. Music.”

“Music.” She echoed with the same amount of care and warmth that he’d given the thought. Like she could see and hear all the possibilities in his future. “You’ll make a great musician, Danny.”

Some day.  
Some day he would. And it’s not that he thought he couldn’t arrive at that destination. He’d been working on it the moment he got out of college- seriously, at least. That was where he was headed. Or he’d die in obscurity trying. But when she said it...

“Thanks.” He was breathless and otherwise speechless and ... hopeful.

And very close to being foolishly in love. If only because she believed in him without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe some things to some people, and I'm really trying; I fell out of this kind of writing for a while, so while I had the burn I thought I'd try to exercise it like an out-of-use-muscle. It was harder than I expected to climb back up the hill, so I hope something good came out of it...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tag change.

Her name was Milly, short for Amelia, though when Dan explained his nickname for her, she grew warm and giggly. Just short of bashful. A very endearing look on her, he thought. She told him he could call her Honey, still, if he wanted. They talked for hours, refilling cups of tea between thoughtful exchanges about life and similar journeys in some parts.

Honey came from an affluent family that had no intent for her to become an artist. Or a doctor. Or a lawyer- a teacher- an _anything_. They wanted her to just keep her hedge fund money and find another affluent someone. A strong man who had a head for business and a sense of family. At least that’s what it would look like, when he showed her off at parties and took pictures with one of his sons- always sons, she said- on his shoulders. She knew that’s what they wanted for her, because that’s what her parents’ marriage was made of.

Dan learned that she had too much in her to settle for a life like that. When she’d told her parents she wanted to go to school, to refine her art skills, her parents had spat in her face. Told her that if she even dared, they’d cut her off and she’d never see another dime in her life. She spent months in bed feeling forsaken and unfortunate. Dreams crushed. Unwanted. Unwarranted. They’d burned her sketchbooks. Her diaries. But that only gave her wings to soar. To be free. They’d unknowingly given her a fresh start. A clean break. Without anything keeping her there she ran away.

He found himself so engrossed in her story of backpacking. Living on the streets. Spending her last dollar on a new sketch book to start new again. Working in the cold. In the rain under the shelter of store overhangs until the shopkeeps would shoo her away. Working from nothing to get somewhere. Anywhere. Never giving up, no matter how dire. No matter how hungry or how cold or how awful everything felt, she knew this was what she wanted to do. And so she did it. He found so much of himself in her that it actually brought him to tears.

She was where he wanted to be. Proof that if he just kept going, kept trying, kept digging even when it felt like he was getting nowhere, when it felt like all his friends had found their path, that he, too, could break into something. Break into doing the one thing he wanted to do. He’d already failed once. He didn’t want to fail again, perhaps scared of that that he hadn’t started again yet. He shared all this with her, and she cried, too. And in a short forty-eight hours he felt closer to Honey than anyone he’d known his entire life.

They shared the same soul. The same journey. She was an outcome unseen. Unheard of. Unreachable. Yet she sat next to him, head on his shoulder, both of them listening to the pitter-patter of rain as it fell around her lofty studio apartment, turning a few pages of her sketchbook. Pictures of him in a long jacket, holding an umbrella, scarf billowing in the breeze. She’d sell that to someone and make something of it. Because she had it in her-

Because of him.

She’d told him that her inspiration had gone dry a handful of months back when her other professional muse hadn’t worked out. Her voice grew tight and nervous all at once trying to get through that phrase and Dan suspected something despicable had happened. He didn’t want to press since she clearly was still upset over it all. Maybe one day she’d open up further, but for the moment it was uttered, he just nodded along and let her pass it by. She said that it was hard to work after that. And that pressures from her agent hadn’t helped. Everyone expected something from her all the time, it seemed; a future he feared, too. He wanted to do music, but he also wanted to do it because he loved it. Because other people would, hopefully, love it. To be locked into contract to churn out lifeless albums simply due to time constraints... it felt horrible.

But then, she said, she’d sat down in his coffee shop and seen him buzzing about. Jamming to a million different songs they played on the radio. Laughing with friends. Cramming food into his face. Smiling at her. Something had taken hold and all of a sudden she was drawing again. Tall, lean, handsome men with billowing, curly hair and five o’clock shadows in down-to-earth fashion. Stuff that, now that he was being presented with it, he realized he’d seen in a few of the higher end shops in Brooklyn. This affair had been going on longer than he realized, but the more she spoke so highly of him, so honestly of him, the less creepy he found it and the more embarrassed he felt. Just to know that a woman like her had found anything in a man like him... it touched him right down to his core.

And that hope reappeared fresh and wonderful. She had done it. Reached her dreams- some of the fresher successes because of him, she reminded him once or twice while flipping, not just through a sketchbook, but a few draft works of novels, as well. She’d been using him, and he found he was okay with that, because it had helped her. And.. because...

Later that night, after a light dinner, more stories and laughter, after she’d shown him to her guest bedroom made up in deep, calming blues, long after she’d gone to sleep, he got that itch to start writing again.

Songs.  
About her.

His problem was that he’d only come there with an umbrella that was probably well into Manhattan by now and ten dollars. There was a chance he wouldn’t remember the lyrics thrumming about in his head come tomorrow morning. At least not as perfect as they were right now. Wonderful flow. Great rhymes. Deep meaning. It all clicked together so well. If he didn’t write it down it’d be another lost cause. So with that thought he got himself up out of his new, comfortable bed and tried to pad around quietly to find something. Anything.

The first thought was a napkin. That would do very nicely. Napkin, pencil. She had those things. Easiest tools in the world. Then he could fold up whatever these new lyrics would turn out to be in his wallet and get back to them later. Quietly he made his way into the kitchen, glad that she had those huge windows to let in pale light from outside, guiding him around so he didn’t bump into anything. Up on the counter next to her coffee maker she had a neat little metal basket atop which sat an even neater pile of pristine white paper napkins. He stole just a few and then walked just as quietly away, back towards the living room.

Her sketchbook was gone, probably tucked back away in her own private room. That was fine, he hadn’t come out there with the intention to snoop. Luckily, unlike her notebooks, there were some pencils and pens in a little cup on the center of the coffee table. Probably well within easy reach so that if something struck her while she was there she could write it down. She was a smart artist. Unlike him. After the Hues had imploded he’d been in the middle of such a heartbreak, such a huge emotional breakdown that he’d left all his work at his parents house with the explicit instructions to get rid of it.

Ever since then he’d been too preoccupied with smoking weed and just barely getting by at his day job to get a new set of supplies. Which was a shame, he was realizing. He really would have liked a new notebook. Maybe that’s what the ten bucks had been meant for. He’d have to remember it later. But for now he sat on the couch, completely nude except for his boxer-briefs, not having had the sense to bring a change of clothes, either, and scribbled down the lyrics floating around in his head. There was a chime to them, too, a little musical lilt that he heard, as with all lyrics that came to him this way. He tried his best to give himself a reminder, drawing some lines that pretended to be a musical bar but was really just to pin his highs, mids, and lows, the spaces where they mingled. He couldn’t read music, but he knew how to read his _own_ music.

It was the sound of her door creaking open that made him realize he’d been humming to himself. Nothing too loud- at least he thought so, but the possibility that he’d woken her up made him feel awash with hot nervousness. That this was weird of him to be doing. Sitting on her couch mostly naked, humming to himself. They weren’t strangers anymore but surely she’d see this as weird? He could explain what he’d been doing, and would since it was probably going to come down to that, but he found himself shrinking down on the couch as he watched her. She looked dazed, but that was normal, right? If she’d just woken up?

She was a beautiful mess. Hair half up, face soft in the moonlight. It was terrible that he allowed his eyes to drift. She was wearing nothing but underwear and an almost rudely sheer nightgown thing. Teddy? He thought maybe that’s what they were called. Or a chemise? Trying to think of the word to distract himself from looking at her and seeing things she didn’t want him to be seeing. Like. Her bare breasts covered by sweet, baby blue fabric he could most certainly see through.

His face felt on fire.   
Would she have come out of her bedroom in that to see what he was up to if she didn’t want him looking at her? Maybe she forgot what she was wearing. He shrunk more into the couch. Waiting. Quiet. Which made it worse. What the hell was he doing?

What the hell was _she_ doing, for that matter? Instead of coming into the living room he heard her bare feet on the floor, drifting towards the kitchen. Pulling the fridge open. Waiting for what felt like too long a time. Then he heard a plastic seal crack, a cap twist open. He imagined she was drinking some water. Parched in the middle of the night. That made things worse. So she really had no idea that he was out there. Dazed and probably still half asleep.

And he’d seen her almost nude.   
Now he felt like the creep.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a soft breath out that sounded refreshed and sweet, a little shuffle inside the fridge and then the sound of its door swinging closed. She walked back to her room, then, pausing in the hallway. For a long while. What was she doing? He was too scared to peer over the couch and get caught. He tried to picture what was in the hall. Maybe she was sleepily looking at artwork? Thinking about something? Readjusting a vase or-

Finally she started moving again, just that small space to her room. The sound of her door opening and closing, the quiet creak of her mattress springs. All this he could hear now that he was actually listening, holding his breath, and no longer consumed by his own music up in his head. He waited. Counted slowly to ten. When that time was up he sat up all the way and looked around. Of course she wasn’t there, she’d gone back to bed. With that, he quickly replaced her pencil, crumpled up his napkin lyrics and shuffled as quietly back to his own room as possible.

Shut the door. Shoved the lyrics in his jean pockets, the pants resting over the back of a chair. Then he climbed gently into bed and pulled the covers up over his head. As if he’d gotten in from a long night out past curfew. Trying not to get busted. His heart was hammering in his chest for a long while then. Only ceasing after what felt like an hour. She had to be back asleep. She hadn’t seen him. Had no idea that he was out there- or that he’d seen _her_.

The rest of him eased and he pulled the covers back down, resting his arms behind his head, staring up at the high ceiling. Thinking. Something that became problematic after just a few more moments. Thinking of her. In that outfit. Lacy? Had it been lacy? Had there been that all-too-sexy feather boa stuff around the lining of the cups? Or, more likely, he was imagining it. Not that he needed to add more bells and whistles. Or that he _should_. Because the more that he fantasized about the way she looked in the late-night-light (what a great title for a song, he thought briefly), the more trouble he was putting himself in.

It took mere seconds to get an erection. And then he was _really_ in trouble. Especially as he let his fantasies get further and further away from him. Bounding out of control. The thought of her strewn across her balcony on the deck chair he’d spied out there. Legs spread, still wearing that see-through lingerie. The trouble was, he’d had a crush on Honey long since before he’d known what she was up to. Something he hadn’t really taken into account when agreeing to this whole mess. Something that now was a very real issue.

_What are you doing?_  
He thought this angrily to himself as he half-awoke from his fantasizing to find his hand underneath the covers, palming himself through his boxer-briefs. He couldn’t jack it in her guest bed. For more reasons than just the mess he’d create-

_Napkins?_  
No. Absolutely not. While the lyrics weren’t perfect, and he’d clean them up when he got home, he was not about to waste the entire reason he’d gone out in the first place.

He couldn’t trek out to the kitchen again. Especially not with the huge boner he was now sporting- and semi-stroking, still, through his underwear. Unable to get himself to stop.

_You’re a fucking animal._  
This thought of frustration didn’t help anything, it didn’t serve to chastise him enough to actually stop. Instead he found himself throwing off the covers with the idea that the bathroom was right across the way. She had one attached to her own bedroom, so there’d be no chance she’d come out to use it. That took him out of bed, carefully and quickly, erection and all, and through one door and then the next, into the bathroom where he flipped the light switch on, blinded immediately.

He’d already made himself acquainted with the bathroom earlier in the day after going through several cups of tea so nothing about it was new. Certainly not the lotion on the counter next to the soap dispenser. If he was going to be a disgusting beast, might as well go the full way. First he triple checked to make sure the door was locked. The likelihood of her coming out to this bathroom to check on him was nil, but it paid to be safe rather than sorry when being a gross dude.

Then he lowered his head, pulled his boxers halfway down, took two pumps, of what was absurdly silky, lotion that no doubt cost a fortune into the palm of his right hand and wrapped his hand around the length of his shaft, giving a slow slide. He didn’t want to do this standing up, but there really were no other options, and he couldn’t take his time, either. Which was fine. This was disgusting through and through so he could get it over with at lightning pace.

His eyes closed and it took only a few seconds for those fantasies to light back up. The sight of her just lightly nude, the thought of her going into the kitchen. He watched himself go to her in his mind’s eye, lift her up onto the table, and then sink onto his knees between her legs. Helped her out of her underwear before sinking his face between her thighs, felt the pleasurable sting as she sunk her hands into his hair and gripped. Listened to the sound of her moans, her pleas for him to go faster- right there- and then the feeling of her coming and bucking into his mouth.

The grip around his cock got harder, feeling himself throb along his palm and fingers. Just barely holding back a groan.   
Quiet, be quiet. Don’t blow this.   
In his fantasy he got back up, tugging down his boxers, imaging her hand where his was just now, holding on to him, looking him in the eyes, her mouth half parted, surprised and eager and needy for his cock. She wanted it.  
She wanted it bad.  
Needed it inside her. Guided him between her legs where he thrust the rest of the way in. He felt the wrap of her legs around his waist, beckoning him in closer. Deeper. God, she needed him deeper. Listened to her moan in his ear.   
How big he was.  
How thick he was.   
God, just how much she loved it. How hard she wanted him to fuck her. So he did. He withdrew every last inch of himself before pounding into her, over and over in a ceaseless rhythm that had her crying out, coming more than just a few times before he heard himself groan to her that he was close. That he was going to lose it.  
She begged him not to pull out. To keep going. To come inside her.  
 _Please, Dan, come inside me, god don’t fucking stop-_  
He heard her voice so clearly, felt her hands sliding up his back, into his hair, pulling on him, keeping him there.

A small, tight noise escaped him as he came in his hand, squeezing, shifting his hips a little stiltedly, jerking, his left hand reaching out to steady himself against the counter as he felt the weaken of his knees. Breathing out of control, panting hard. Face flush. Only just barely able to look at himself in the mirror after a moment. Catching the sight of himself. Feeling disgusted.

Quickly washing his hands in the sink once, twice, and then again just for good measure. Feeling drained even as he crouched to make sure he hadn’t gotten anything on the underside of the counter or the cabinets or god forbid the little green rug in front of the sink. Nothing. He was fine. No mess. Good. Then he took one last look at himself in the mirror, tugged his boxers back up and then pressed his ear against the door. Listened. It was still quiet out there.

He turned the light off and left, stopping just at his bedroom door, hand on the knob. Looking. Something striking him in his post-glow. Eyes lowering, glazing over as he recounted what had brought him to this moment.

Her. In her little nightie.   
The sound of her footsteps came back. Clear as a bell. He counted. Thought about how many it took to get from his bedroom to hers. That was when he realized. While she’d been lagging in the hallway it was because she’d been standing in front of his bedroom.

She’d probably just been lost in sleepy thoughts about something. Which was where he found himself after he sunk back down under his covers and turned on his side. The thought persisted for just a few seconds more, too tired to actually deal with it, and then it disappeared completely. Sated, despite his disgust, and all too tired to do much else but drift and then fall into a heavy sleep.

By late next morning he was up, pulling on his jeans groggily, sliding into his t-shirt, looking about as rumpled as he felt. She was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, nose in a book, mug of hot tea wisping steam. Now she was wearing a ratty old t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. When she took notice of him she looked up and smiled and he was too dazed and sleepy not to smile back immediately. “I didn’t wanna wake you. You look like you slept well.”

“Best sleep of my life, I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, when washing ejaculate off of your person, use cold water. It keeps the sticky icky from coagulating. The more you know!


	4. Chapter 4

Once the sweet sleepiness faded away, Dan was left feeling groggy.  
Groggy and all too aware of what he’d done the previous night. Disgusted anew and unable to look at her. Trying to figure it out up in his head how to tell her. Because he _had_ to tell her. Even if it would ruin things, this sweet gig- being friends or whatever he was with her. It was nice, whatever it was, and him being absolutely terrible would probably throw it all right out the window. But if that was the way it went, then that’s what he deserved. Because _she_ deserved to know.

It left him quiet for a long while as she moved around, talking to him- maybe herself. _Hopefully_ herself since he wasn’t really paying attention, too stuck in his head. She didn’t seem bothered, so maybe she was just talking aloud. Maybe she was used to such a thing. She did live alone in this huge place. Probably normal. Eventually, though, after she’d gotten dressed in something other than pajamas, she came back into the kitchen and he came-to to the sounds of a gurgling coffee pot. Finally he noticed she must have actually asked him something, as she was standing half turned towards him from the counter, looking over him questioningly. “Uh- sorry, what?”

She just smiled. “I asked if you were okay, but now that I have your attention, how do you take your coffee?” He must have really looked wiped. Probably sold it, too, with the way he’d been drifting for who knew how long in ashamed silence.

“Oh. Um. Light and sweet, please. Milk, creamer, whatever. Doesn’t matter.” Not too picky with that type of stuff. If it was just one cup of coffee, the dairy wouldn’t really upset his stomach too much to be a problem, and he was already about to bug her more than what he was worth. Asking for a lighter dairy in his coffee hardly seemed like the bother it was worth.

Turning away, she pulled the pot off the counter and started pouring, mixing in sugar and what looked like two-percent milk. The sound of the metal spoon against the sides of a mug... he got distracted for another second. “Dan?” Until then.

Then he looked up. She was turned away again. “Look- I have to tell you something really important and whatever comes out of it, I deserve so just- look- I- last night while I was trying to fall asleep I got the urge to write again, and I haven’t written lyrics in a really long time, the only problem was I don’t have a notebook and- so- uh- well I got out of bed and went into the kitchen to get some napkins and then sat on the couch and like- got really in the zone and then- like- I- you- you came out of your bedroom. And I saw you. And I _looked_. I shouldn’t have but I did and-“ Barreling through this as fast as he could not only just to get through it but because he was frightened of her response.

Much more so when that came in the form of her quickly turning back to him and knocking a mug off the counter accidentally in her shock. “Shit-“ She sounded upset more than angry, which was probably a bad sign, and she quickly dropped to her knees, wads of napkins at the ready.

Dan got up from his spot, grabbing a handful, too, and got down next to her, pulling shards of ceramic off the hardwood floor. “I’m really sorry-“ For so many things, least of all-

“That was the first mug I ever bought when I moved here.” Her voice was timid, and when he looked up at her, he saw she was blushing furiously. Probably less so from the story she was telling and more so from... the thing he was trying to explain five seconds ago.

“Shit. I’m really _really_ sorry, Honey.” Looking at the big chunks in his hand. “You like.. um.. turtles?” Figuring that’s what the green spatters he was holding in his hand had to have been only moments ago.

“I saw it in a thrift shop and thought it was cute- I...” Soaking up the rest of the spilled coffee as she trailed off, standing. He stood next to her, awkwardly putting the pieces on the counter. Maybe she could glue it back together? A thought he wanted to give voice to but she started speaking again. Although not looking at him. “So you.. were in the living room and... I came out to.. get some water... and... you...”

He looked just off to the side, too, shrinking in on himself. “Yeah. I’m a fucking creep and I’m really sorry and if you wanna kick me out that’s fine I totally understand. I should have said that I was out there or done anything but look at something I obviously wasn’t meant to see. I really didn’t mean to- to- fuckin’- invade your privacy like that- I.. I’m really fuckin’ sorry...”

First she started shaking her head, then she crossed her arms. Closing herself off. “No it’s- I mean- you just... you wanted to.. you said you don’t have a notebook? Or you didn’t bring one?”

The topic switch was so jarring but she seemed genuinely interested in the subject matter. So much so that she was putting aside her embarrassment and mortification in order to look at him and ask. “Uh- well I did but I- um..” It was just unfortunate that he didn’t want to talk about that. “I did but I don’t anymore. The other one got destroyed and I haven’t picked up a new one yet.” That was sufficient enough.

“Oh.” This answer only served to upset her even more. For what reason he couldn’t say.

“Look- that doesn’t really matter- why I was out there- I should’ve done anything but what I did which was- fucking- peeping-tom on you. And I’m a huge fucking skeevy scumbag for doing it and I’m really sorry and please just tell me what I can do to make it right.”

She just started shaking her head again. “It’s.. it’s- I mean it’s not like, okay-okay or anything but it wasn’t your fault. I knew I had a guest in the house- I shouldn’t have just been.. walking around... in _that_.” Face flaring up in pink again.

This time he had trouble looking away from her even as her gaze angled elsewhere. “Yeah. _That_. Um. I really am sorry...” He very suddenly was struggling to keep the thoughts of her out of his head. Thoughts from last night. Especially the ones that involved her in _that_ on the kitchen table right behind him. With him standing between her legs... and..

“It’s- don’t.. don’t worry about it. It’s my fault. I- this is gonna sound really stupid, so promise not to laugh but.. the only reason I was wearing it was because- uh- well- I take these self-love classes and like.. they tell you to wear a really sexy piece of lingerie when you do menial tasks or you’re in front of a mirror because it like empowers you and I- god it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud...”

“Self love classes?” It wasn’t like the concept was unheard of, he just wasn’t aware someone was teaching it. In a classroom.

Or that Honey needed to go to something like that.  
The idea sort of... broke his heart.

“Yeah, I know, it’s really dumb and.. look.. let’s just not talk about it, okay? I forgive you and.. I won’t do that ever again-“

“No! -I mean. No- not  ‘cuz.. don’t stop because I’m here. Please. If that shit helps you, then you wear whatever you want whenever you want. Don’t stop because I was being a huge fucking creep. Okay?” Not wanting to take away something from her that sounded like it was important. She needed to be empowered. She wanted to... look good? Feel sexy?

He could understand the sentiment. And however she needed to, or wanted to do it, especially in her own apartment... he couldn’t take that away from her. Didn’t want to. When he finally settled his gaze on her, he saw her looking back. Although shyly. They shared a mutually embarrassed smile. “Okay...”

When he could get himself to move, he nodded. Slowly. “Okay.” Not sure what else to say. He wanted to apologize again.  
And sort of wished that telling her how in control of him she was in his fantasies would empower her. Instead of just creep her out further. Which she’d have every right to be.

“Uh- I have to.. go meet a client. I know it’s sudden. I just realized what time it is.” He wasn’t sure if this was entirely true. She probably just wanted to get away.

But he’d made too much of a mess to stop her. “Yeah- cool- uh...” Realizing for the first time that she had a busy life and he’d quit his job to be here. To be here and do... what? Exactly?

Once he agreed, she’d already slipped away from him, going into the living room to gather up her things. Into her bedroom to slip shoes on. Her voice had no trouble filling the apartment, though. “I have cable TV- and internet, if you want to use the computer, there’s no password on it. I won’t be long. Just a couple of hours! There’s a really nice cafe down the street if you want- uh- your coffee is on the counter, still, though, and there’s snacks in the cabinets-“

This felt.  
Weird. And odd. And really super _weird_. Like she was a mother leaving her kid at home to play. Listing off all the things he could do to keep himself entertained while she was out working. Slowly he moved into the other room in anticipation of her departure. “Yeah, it’s cool. Don’t worry.” Mumbled, just a little, but she must have heard him because she didn’t answer until she was back by the elevator.

He looked up, caught the sight of her in a different outfit entirely, something more professional. Hair straightened. Makeup fixed. Sketchbooks and portfolios underneath her arm. When she smiled at him, though, he couldn’t help but smile back. “I won’t be long. We can get take out or something when I get back. I’d offer for you to come but it’s really boring stuff. Promise.”

“Don’t worry.” Said again, just in case maybe she hadn’t heard after all. They shared a small smile and a mutual wave that was more finger movement than hand and then she was through the elevator doors and gone. Leaving him to his thoughts. Leaving him to... well. Everything. Anything. Though that feeling of weirdness was trying to claw its way back, he was reluctant to let it. He just had to find a groove here. She had a life, she was working right now, and while she was out working, that meant he was off.

Right? He thought he was starting to make sense to himself, anyway. He lazily walked back into the kitchen and took his mug of coffee off the counter, walking back into the living room to stand by the windows. Watch the city go by as he thought. While Honey was home, he was technically working. Any time they were together, whether she was sketching or not, he was working for her. That thought alone put a huge strain on what he wanted to consider friendship- and it was, he still liked her, but... he was working, when they were together. Because he was supposed to be inspiring her. Or. Whatever it was.

So when she was out, he was free to do whatever. What did he do when he wasn’t busting his ass at the coffee shop? Or the restaurant a little while back? Or the comic shop? Or any of the hundreds of unfulfilling jobs that he’d had?

Well... he was either getting high or hanging out with friends.  
Or both.  
But this was different now. And while, sure, he could call somebody and ask to hang for a while, obviously not _there_ though, he thought maybe he should do something else. Something he’d been thinking about since he’d gotten here. The reason he specifically hadn’t been doing the thing he wanted to do was because he filled all his other time with loud stuff like that.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his now crumpled sets of lyrics and pretend music bars. Read them over. They were still as good as he remembered. His little lapse into being an animal hadn’t changed that. And now he had _more_. The only problem was he didn’t want to keep writing on napkins. She had to have paper somewhere but snooping felt wrong, even if she’d basically gave him the entire apartment to do whatever in while she was gone. Probably too trusting. But so was he. So at least they had that in common.

Behind his rapidly falling apart pretend lyrics sheets was his last ten dollars. He squinted at it, considering with a sigh. Food was being taken care of right now, and in six more days Honey said she’d pay him a grand. Which would be more than enough to buy tons of notebooks to work in. But he didn’t want to wait a week. He wanted to get started now. Or at least try. Stop putting shit on hold and just.. just do something. Anything. Transfer these lyrics and clean them up. Work on an entire song and not just intros and choruses. But something was holding him back.

Because instead of taking that thought and going, he found himself sitting on the floor in front of the windows, crossing his legs in front of him, setting the napkins and money aside and just holding on to his mug of now warm coffee. He could easily go out into the world and get a notebook. Maybe not a super nice one, but ten dollars would get him a composition book, easy. And at least going to find one, too, he’d get to know this area a little more. It would definitely give him something to do while she was out. Explore. Buy a notebook. Come back and write. Instead he just continued to sit on the floor and watch cars on the street go by. Couples holding hands on the sidewalk. Children shrieking and running after each other.

He felt rooted to his spot. Nothing was keeping him there but himself but he was a strong force.  
_What are you scared of?_

What if he went out and got a notebook and wrote it all down and it wasn’t any good? There was a very high chance of that. And what was the point of wasting ten dollars on that? An afternoon? He could easily catch up on sleep. Or browse the internet and watch dumb videos all day. Think of stuff to do for Honey when she came back. Poses or... he could also use the computer to search for “professional muse” which was suddenly a very appealing thought. This was apparently a real line of work. She’d had at least one other dude before. People knew how to do whatever the fuck it was he was supposed to be doing. And maybe if he read up on it he’d be able to help her better. Instead of sitting there doing nothing.

He replayed their conversation the afternoon before. How easily she’d just wanted to start sketching him- had he done something to prompt that? He’d come in soaking wet- maybe that had made her want to draw him in fall gear with an umbrella- or winter stuff with a coat? He hadn’t seen her recent sketches when she’d shown him later. But what was it? What part of that, and him, had inspired her? He supposed it was that she’d never seen him soaking wet before. Or was that stupid? It was difficult to tell. But the thought seemed to hinge on that if he did things out of the ordinary, she’d get ideas.

...but did that make sense? She’d been drawing him for months now while he was being _exactly_ himself at his job. So maybe that wasn’t it. Or was it? Maybe she’d seen all those sides of him and now she was ready to get a little more intimate-

The thought ran a hot flash straight through him and he ended up shaking his head hard.  
_Not that kind of intimate, you fucking idiot._  
He’d nearly blown everything this morning. While they’d gotten cozy yesterday, that all seemed to evaporate when he’d told her what he’d done. And rightfully so. She’d probably realized he still was a stranger- she’d opened her home, her life, her entire soul to a stranger who had paid her kindness back by fucking creeping on her. Maybe she’d have time to think while she was out meeting whoever. Realize this was a bad idea. Send him back home.

A deep sigh escaped him, reaching his hands up to scratch at his scalp. Maybe peace and quiet wasn’t such a great thing after all. Especially if he couldn’t get himself to shut the fuck up. It was inevitable, in this wonderful silence, with everything going on, that he would find no solace in it. He had to go. He had to listen to the city instead of watch it behind a glass wall.

So with that he shoved his stuff back in his pocket, went into the kitchen, rinsed his mug out- and had been halfway to leaving when he spied the broken bits of her mug on the counter. More disappointment and agony bloomed through him. He was being so terrible to her. Not on purpose- though one could and _should_ very strongly argue that he was absolutely in control of telling her he’d been on the couch last night. But still. Even after all that she’d said she’d forgiven him. And then ran off- or. Well. Gone to work, if that was right.

After frowning at her mug for five minutes more and thinking in circles, he walked away finally and got into his sneakers. Still a little damp from earlier, but wearable. His jacket, at least, was fine. And maybe he wouldn’t be out for too long, anyway. He didn’t really know what he was after- well. A notebook, for sure. And just. Background noise. Maybe he could sit a cafe and just enjoy himself. Because that’s what he should be doing with his time off, right? Relaxing. Enjoying himself. Doing things for him. So that’s what he wanted to do.

That was what he was _resolved_ to do, too, even through the elevator ride downstairs and onto the sidewalk, picking any random direction (left, it happened to be), but minding the street signs. Not getting too lost in his head so he’d at least be able to find his way back. It would be a very shitty thing to do to get lost and then have to take a train home and leave her in a lurch.  
_You’ll be fine._

Another shake of his head as he turned one corner and then another, setting him down a row of little shops. A perfect place to be. Three of them were thrift shops and another thought burned anew. He couldn’t help but go in each one, greeting the cashiers happily and then going to his own devices. Walking front to back, looking at clothes that were old but good, records that he thumbed through, books of all kinds. Jewelry, accessories- blankly for a few moments he wondered what Honey liked to wear. Was she more of a gold or silver person? Dangling earrings or studs? He got distracted even further wondering if he should ask his sister for advice on what kind of jewelry to buy for a woman that seemed to have everything.

In the back of the second shop the walls were lined with dinette sets, plates, bowls, and mugs. Lots of novelty mugs. Cats and dogs and grumpy-coffee-lover sorts of things. Things you’d buy for people you either really liked or had no idea about aside that, well, everyone drinks something sometime. Hope burned inside him. He could get her something new. He had to get her something. Replace what he’d destroyed, even if accidentally. He had to try and make amends. Show her he wasn’t a shitty person. He wasn’t sure if she thought he was, probably not- ...right? ...but thinking about it, now he had no idea. And the more he _did_ think about it, the more he became worried.

Mug- he had to find a mug. He wanted to give her a mug, too. It was the only thing he could think of. And- behind a terrible Florida Dolphins mug sandwiched up against a ‘lefties are cool’ mug, he found it. The base ceramic was white and had four little flattened feet on the side along with a head on the end and two black dots for eyes. The top of the mug was green with little white painted flowers and random designs, the rim and handle painted a delicate light blue. He was in love with it instantly. It was perfect. Terribly, wonderfully perfect. So much so that he was almost sure he was bound to break this one, too, before he even got it to her.

He picked it up as gingerly as possible and cradled it in his hands all the way to the front of the store and gently put it on the counter. The girl working the register smiled, “You find everything okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Just this.” Dan was sure at this point that his miracle luck would run out in about fifteen minutes. He had to get this home to her by then and leave it on the table until she returned.

“That’ll be seven dollars. Do you want me to wrap it for you?” Even though she’d asked, she was already in the process of doing so, taking some white tissue and stuffing it inside.

“Yeah- please. Thank you so much.” He reached inside his pocket one more time to get that ten dollar bill out, gladly handing it over to her and taking back his three dollars in change. Now really having money for almost literally nothing. But it was good. He was glad to have spent it on her.

After taking the now boxed-up mug in the plastic bag he was handed, he exited the shop, finding something another block down to spend his last three dollars on. Almost-literally-nothing turned out to be a Twix bar at their local bodega and he sat outside for just a moment in the chilly fall sunshine to eat it, feeling quite good about himself. The bulky orange cat living inside sauntered out to lie down next to him and for once things felt strangely good. He’d go home and maybe just put on some music and-

Shit.  
His notebook.  
“That’s okay.” A cheerful thought to both himself and the feline enjoying some very serious belly pets. It was okay. He could get a notebook later. While he wanted to work on his music, Honey was more important right now.

 _...Honey was more important._  
The thought dazed and confused him. Sure he’d had a crush on her for quite some time before he even really knew her, but now he had a _real_ crush on her. Something warm and wonderful and-

“Fucking shit.”  
Her building was mocking him. The realization that he’d left without a key suddenly _very_ apparent to him once he made it up the steps. He had no idea how much longer she was going to be. But sitting outside was his only choice. If she hadn’t already gone inside. He thought about buzzing her but he hadn’t really spent too much time out, maybe a couple hours. She probably wasn’t home yet. So he resigned himself to sitting on the stoop, hoping none of the neighbors were coming or going because they’d most certainly call the cops and tell them to make him leave.

It would have been nice, he thought, an hour later, if he’d had a notebook. He had some more lyrics he wanted to write down. Good ones, too. But he was beyond that, now. Another hour later and he thought maybe he should just get up and stretch his legs. And a half hour after that he pulled himself to his feet with the intention, but saw Honey finally coming home.

She looked a million miles away, face soft, eyes hazy, down and to the left. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, folders and sketchbooks still tucked under her arm. Her hair was just a little more of a mess. She looked like she’d gone to work at a retail job or something for those hours that she was gone. Just... tired. But something about her plastered a dumb smile all over his face. He was happy to see her. Truly. And...

He’d sort of missed her.  
A thought that might have spooked him had he had time to think about it. Instead she got close enough to realize who was standing on her doorstep. “Dan? Are you okay?” Hurrying a little more to get up to him.

“Me? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. I just- I wanted to step out and get some air and then realized I totally don’t have a key or anything.” Giggling softly, smiling still, hoping she didn’t think he was as big of an idiot as he actually was.

“Oh- sorry. Yeah- I should have thought about that before essentially locking you in an apartment, huh?” Realizing this was sort of her folly, too. She’d been in such a rush she’d only just told him to _stay_ put without realizing how cruel that could be.

He waved a hand at her, reaching down to scoop up his bag. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” Repeating this and mentally wincing for doing so.

They stepped in together and got on the elevator and he knew she was looking at him- or more accurately, what was in his hand. “You went shopping?” Curious and light.

“Yeah- kinda. I mean, yeah. I did.” So very suddenly he felt giddy. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction. He wanted to give this thing to her so bad just to make her happy. He was way in over his head but it was too little too late. “Actually-“ They stepped out again and into her apartment and he just held it out. “It’s for you.”

She seemed stunned. Like no one had _ever_ given her anything before. “Me- for me? Really?” She reached out, carefully taking the package like it was now the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you...”

Another giggle leaked out of him. “You’re welcome- you can open it, you know. I didn’t buy you a plastic bag.”

He watched as a blush formed on her cheeks and a bright smile came after. “Yeah- obviously. Okay. Here.” She stepped over to the table where all sorts of mail had been tossed and was currently being ignored, setting her folders and books down first and then the bag on top and pulling the box out of it. It was just a plain cardboard box, no pomp and circumstance, and then she opened that, too, unwadding the tissue paper wrapped around her gift.

He felt slightly light, excited and nervous. Would she like it? Would she use it right away? Maybe tomorrow morning. Would she think it was a good gift? Or-

“Oh-“ The noise out of her deflated his spirits for one moment as she lifted her new turtle mug up to inspect it closer. “Danny... I love it. You didn’t have to do that...” Looking up at him with those big beautiful eyes of hers and a timid smile, cheeks still pink.

A big wide grin spread over his lips and he felt the beginnings of his own little blush, for one reason or another. “No- I know, but. I wanted to. I saw it while I was out and... I just wanted you to have it.”

Sooner than he knew how to react, she’d come over to him and wrapped her arms around him. Only a small percentage of him was worried that she’d drop the mug while giving him a hug, the rest of him was warmly, comfortably content with the feel of her against him. And in his arms, too, when he put them back around her, giving her a little squeeze. “Thank you so much. I’m gonna make tea. I’ll use it right now. Oh- actually-“ She pulled away and he gave her a questioning little glance, a soft tilt of his head. “Actually... I got you something, too.”

His brows knit but he was by no means upset. “Really?”

She set her mug down on the table and pulled free all her folders, one of which had a brown package neatly tied up with blue string hiding inside. Shyly she came back over to him, holding it out. “It’s not much. It’s not really _anything_. It’s not as thoughtful as yours.” Dismissing whatever she’d come home with so suddenly.

He didn’t know what to do or how to tell her that couldn’t _possibly_ be true other than by opening her gift. So he pulled the bow loose and unwrapped the little package. Waiting inside was a black leather bound notebook, with a little pencil pocket on the spine, a blue colored mechanical pencil resting inside already. It felt good in his hands, and he couldn’t resist cracking it open, enjoying the sound immensely. On the inside cover his name was printed in wonderfully fancy script and then less fancy music notes underneath that. Clearly something she’d drew.

“You... did this for me?” He felt tears welling along his eyelashes. It was more than he could handle. It was... it was so genuine. So sweet.

She nodded shyly, smiling much the same. “Yeah. I want.. I want you to be able to work on your music while you’re here. And I passed a stationary shop on the way home- and I just... thought of you.”

“Honey, I- I love this. Thank you so much.” He was sure he couldn’t ever voice just how grateful he was that she did that- that she thought of him. That she...

That she _thought_ of him.  
It made him feel fantastic.  
It made him feel like the most important person in the world.  
Because Honey had thought of him.  
Because Honey wanted him to chase his dreams.

He enveloped her in his arms, hugging her tighter than before, and he was delighted when she hugged back just as hard. She felt right, there, head resting against his shoulder, body snug against his. He didn’t want to let go. In fact, he very much wanted to ease back _just_ a fraction and-

“Do you wanna order some chinese while I make some tea? I have a menu.” She pulled back first to ask, still not very far. And soon they were sharing a space more intimately reserved for people more than what they were. Her hands on his chest, his hand precariously perched on her side, faces not too far apart.

“Uh- yeah- that sounds really good...” But he couldn’t get himself to move. Now he was consumed with the thought of kissing her. Bending down just that few inches more and pressing his lips against hers-

“Okay.” Bright and sweet as she smiled at him one more time and then pulled away entirely and he was left feeling stupid and cold. He needed to get a hold of himself. Soon. _Now_ , rather. But...  
But...

As he watched her carefully lift up her new mug and smile so happily at it and hum herself into the kitchen to make tea inside it, he could do nothing save surrender to the warm fuzzies in his stomach. He didn’t just have a _crush_ on her-

“Dan, I have the menu!”

“I’m coming!”

-he **loved** her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it's me. Do you love these nerds as much as I do?


End file.
